


Evolution of Rose

by LadyChi



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story, in six parts, about the men in Rose Tyler's life and the way they changed her... and she changed them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Quickening

**Author's Note:**

> Visiting Ye Olde LJ, I decided to start slowly bringing over some of my oldies-but-goodies from my various fandoms. This is one of my all-time favorite fics I've ever written. Ever. I hope you enjoy it. With love, from Chi of 2009.

  
_  
How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself._   
_\--Anais Nin_   


Sex.  
  
It was a word girls whispered in the schoolyard with their hands over their mouths, with much blushing and giggling. What were boys really like? Was kissing all that good, because sometimes it looked like the guy was trying to eat the girl's face.... Rose thought she might have an idea. It had to be fun, with the right guy. And at thirteen-and-one-half, she'd found him. His name was Jacob Marks, and he played football like no one else she'd ever seen. He might even be better than Mickey Smith once he was Mickey's age. She loved to watch him dribble the ball from foot to foot, loved to see the way he was so graceful when he manipulated the ball down the pitch. He was smooth when he talked, too, and sometimes Rose forgot what she was saying when he would start conversations with her. She told herself that she would get better about that, though.  
  
Shareen and Keisha teased her endlessly about her crush. She obsessed about little details... did his hair look better on Monday, or Wednesday? Didn't his eyes look perfect when he wore the blue sweater? She drew hearts in her notebook and planned their wedding. There would be roses, and of course a horse-drawn carriage. They'd travel around the world together, because of course he was going to be the next Beckham.   
  
Her overwhelming interest in Jacob Marks lasted a whole month – the longest of any crush she'd ever had so far. At her birthday party, eating cheap crisps and drinking knock-off soda, Shareen had leaned over and kissed Jacob Marks full on the mouth. When he kissed back, Rose's stomach roiled and her eyes filled with tears.   
  
Her fourteenth birthday was spent hiding in the tub in her mother's flat, holding onto her stomach. She decided, then and there, that she would never, ever, let a boy mean that much to her ever again. It hurt too much.  
  
The first boy to kiss her did so on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Rose was all of fifteen, and Andrew Schmidt was an experienced seventeen-year-old. He was younger than Mickey, but he still played footie with her friend every once in a while, and he watched her with knowing eyes. Somehow, when his eyes locked with hers, she remembered that she had hips, and she was hyper-aware of every move of her body. Someplace deep inside of her thrilled at Andrew's attention. She got that feeling that Andrew Schmidt knew what it would take to make her like kissing.   
  
When he finally cornered her at school, her heart about pounded out of her chest. He leaned against the wall, all of his weight pressed on one hand and kissed her. Rose fought the crushing wave of disappointment. It wasn't good. Sloppy and wet and a little bit suffocating – it didn't thrill her the way Rose thought it should have. She pushed him away and walked in the other direction.   
  
Sixteen, the magic number. Her mates threw her a party, with loud music and a thumping beat. Keisha's brother bought the alcohol, and by the time the band started playing, Rose was feeling good. All her inhibitions gone, she danced with her arms above her head, jumping up and down and shouting along.   
  
When the band took a break, she stumbled over to the table and filled her glass with the punch that had been so carefully doctored by her friends. That was when she felt his hands for the first time, wrapping securely around her waist, and the press of his lips against her neck. His hands were large and his fingers thin as they slipped easily beneath the waist band of her jeans. Rose knew she should push off his advances, so she whirled around to face him.  
  
“Oi, bugger off, arsehole,” she said, pushing his hands away.   
  
He looked genuinely embarrassed. “Oh... sorry. I... thought you were someone else. Jimmy Stone. I'm with the band.”   
  
A smile stole over Rose's face before she wanted it to. She shrugged and reset her face into a more maturely blasé expression... or one she hoped was more mature. “I recognize you. Lead singer, right?”  
  
“The one and only,” he acknowledged with a half-shrug. “Right now we're just doing kids' birthday parties and stuff. Nobody's ever actually paid us to play, but someday we're going to be big. Really big. I've got some friends in the industry and... they say it looks good.”   
  
Rose tried to remember to be cynical. “As a matter of fact, this is my birthday,” she said, and pushed against his chest a little unsteadily with one finger. “And everybody's got friends. You aren't impressing me, Jimmy Stone.”   
  
“Wait. You're Rose Tyler, the birthday girl?”   
  
“Yeah.” She turned away from him, and started to walk in the other direction, silently reminding herself to put one foot in front of the other.   
  
“Wait! Rose!” He grabbed her arm and Rose grinned in triumph.  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“You don't look sixteen.” He smiled. “Especially not in that top.” Gesturing expressively, he grinned as he watched her blush. “Give me your number. I want to call you, pretty Rose with the dark brown eyes and the gorgeous tits.”   
  
“Is that how you're going to mark it down?” Rose asked, her tongue sticking out between her teeth. “Got so many girls in your little black book you've got to include a physical description?”  
  
“Job hazard,” Jimmy said, reaching for her hand and rubbing his thumb across the top of it. “I'm going to remember you, though.”   
  
Rose laughed, and then tilted her head to the side. “All right.”   
  
“Confession?” Jimmy asked her, grinning broadly.  
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“I meant to kiss you all along.”   
  
“Well.” Rose thought the flutter in her stomach had to be a flock of birds, it was so disturbing to her. “I... I guess that's all right then.”  
  
He did call the next day. And the next, and the next... and soon after, he was taking her on dates. He took her to greasy pizza places and chippys and he never tried to impress her. He was Jimmy and she was Rose, and they just were.  
  
Rose could feel the puzzle pieces of her life snapping into place. They settled into a steady routine. She'd go to school, come back and listen to him play the guitar, or they'd watch the telly and make fun of movies. She worked a few nights at the pub so that she could afford bus fare home and a few drinks a night. Her work at school was beginning to suffer, but her mum was working two jobs and wasn't around to notice, and besides, she was happy when Jimmy was happy.   
  
“Come sit by me. I want people to know I'm your bloke,” he'd say with a big grin, patting the seat next to him. And she'd slide over, and he'd wrap his arm completely around her, and she'd smile, too. Because it was nice to belong to someone. Her dad had died, leaving just her and her mum. It was nice to have a boy take care of her. It was nice to take care of someone else.   
  
When Jackie came home with some bloke she didn't know, Rose crashed at Jimmy's place. Whenever she needed to cry, Jimmy's shoulder was there. He charmed her mum, he got on well with her friends, though he didn't seem too interested in really getting to know them.   
  
Slowly, but surely, she began to mold her life around him – began to accommodate his needs at the expense of her own, and she didn't even realize she was doing it. Friends at school complained that they never saw her anymore, and Mickey Smith pulled her aside to tell her that he thought this relationship with Jimmy probably wasn't a good idea, but no one could tell Rose what she didn't want to hear. She was in love.   
  
Then, one afternoon, everything changed.   
  
They'd gone back to his flat on a Friday. She'd skipped school altogether, something that was becoming more and more common... especially on days that Jimmy had a show, since he insisted she relaxed him when she was around and made his music better. He was sitting on a chair in his room, thumbing a guitar and singing Poison under his breath (he never tired of singing “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” around her) while she sat on the bed, flipping through a magazine and trying to find something on the telly.   
  
“So... I've been thinking. We should do it,” Jimmy said, not looking up from his guitar. “We've done everything but the full.. thing. And we should just do it.”   
  
Rose looked up from her magazine, startled. “What?”   
  
Jimmy stopped strumming and regarded her seriously over the body of the instrument. “We should have sex. I love you. You're my girl. And you're hot, and I'm hot. We've been seeing each other for three months.”  
  
Rose threw her magazine aside in a fit of pique. “So what, you think I'm just going to drop down to my skivvies because you think it's a good idea? We said... you said we could wait.”   
  
Jimmy put his guitar aside and crossed the room, taking her head in his large palms. He kissed her, passionate and possessive, so needy and demanding that it took her breath away.   
  
“You're seventeen. You're practically living with me. It's like you're my wife 'cause we're going to be together forever. Come on, Rosie,” he whispered to her. “I promise you, it feels like nothing else in the world.”   
  
His hand snuck down her body, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding her under the waistband, playing with the elastic of her knickers. In spite of herself, Rose thrilled at Jimmy's talented fingers. They'd experimented with this a bit... she'd never “gotten there” like Shareen had sworn she would, but maybe tonight would be the night.   
  
Still, she shook her head. “Jimmy, we said... I mean, maybe...” She ran her hand down Jimmy's stomach towards his zipper, rubbing her open palm against his erection.   
  
“No, Rose. I want the real thing.”  
  
His hand slid up under her shirt. He unsnapped her bra and cupped her breast in his calloused hands underneath of the fabric hanging loose from her body. The roughness of his skin against the smoothness of hers made Rose catch her breath. Jimmy looked into her eyes and grinned. Slowly, he brushed his thumb across her nipple. Once, twice. With his other hand, he pushed her shirt up. Rose squirmed under his attention. “Jimmy...”   
  
“Relax. Whatever happens, I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice low and husky. He pulled her shirt over her head and removed her bra just as quickly. His mouth descended to her breast and he took her nipple in his mouth, gently rolling it around inside, his teeth light grazing the ever-tightening bud.   
  
Rose arched up into his touch, running her hands through his hair. Everything in her body was telling her to just listen to him, but some part of her mind still objects.   
  
“You're not listening to me, I...” He sucked hard on her nipple and her hips rose off the bed. She gave a shout of pleasure. Her mind swam, and her hands grasped onto Jimmy's shoulders.   
  
“Rose,” Jimmy pleaded. “I have a show tonight. I can't relax. You know that agent's coming down from London and you have gorgeous tits. Have I ever told you that?”  
  
Rose laughed in spite of herself, and threw her head back against the pillow. “Once or twice.”   
  
He slid the zipper of her jeans down and unbuttoned them, pressing two of his fingers against the wet cotton of her pants while he sucked on her breast. “Oh, Rose,” he muttered, breaking off from her chest to look at her directly. “C'mon baby. Please.”   
  
It was the need in his eyes that did her in, and the magic he was working with his fingers. Slowly, she nodded her head, and parted her legs.   
  
**  
  
She woke up the next morning a changed woman. She'd had sex. The last mystery of the universe, finally unlocked to her. She wouldn't just be pretending during sleepovers now; she'd know. And even though it hadn't lasted long, it had been good. It had felt nice. She rolled over in her bed and swung her feet to the floor. Sex. It wasn't a word she'd whisper behind her hand anymore. It was one she'd know. And... she smiled. She kind of figured she liked it. 


	2. Healing

  
_When one is pretending, the entire body revolts._

Anais Nin

“What an arse.” Keisha was shouting, gesturing with one free hand while the other clenched her beer with a death grip. “Who does he think he is? Honestly. Running out with another girl while he's letting you pay for everything.”  
  
  
“Yeah, well, not any more,” Rose said glumly, staring down into her own cup. She hadn't felt like this since the bathtub at her fourteenth birthday party. “Told him to stick it up his bum and ran home to mum. I'm going to be hearing about how stupid I was for weeks.”  
  
  
“Don't think so,” Keisha returned gently, resting her teeth on the lip of her plastic cup. “Your mum's got a gob, but she's not mean-spirited.”  
  
  
“Guess so.” Rose raised her cup to her lips and swallowed the slowly-warming alcohol with a gulp.  
  
  
“Rose!” Mickey Smith ambled over from across the room, wrapping her in one of his easy hugs. Rose clung to him probably a little tighter than she should of, but Mickey seemed to to know what she needed, transferring her to his side, his arm securely around her shoulders. “How've you been?”  
  
  
“She's a wreck. Jimmy Stone ran off with that redheaded slut,” Keisha said bluntly. “There's a group of us that are going to go down and cut off his stones. Want to help?”  
  
  
“Oh, I'll do more than that. I'll rip his bleedin' heart out,” Mickey promised, although he didn't seem inclined to let Rose move from his side. “But not tonight. Let's get drunk instead, all right?”  
  
  
Rose laughed, the tears in her eyes making it more of a choked sound than she would have preferred, but Mickey smiled encouragingly at her. “That's the cure for a broken heart, is it?” she asked teasingly.  
  
  
“It's the cure for lots of things,” Mickey said, a jovial grin firmly in place. “We'll get good and pissed. You can crash at my place tonight so your mum don't know.”   
  
  
Rose smiled slowly at him. “All right.”  
  
  
After that night, Rose found herself spending as much time as she could with Mickey. The thing about him was that he was comfortable. After her tempestuous relationship with Jimmy Stone, it was just what she needed. He seemed to relax away all of her edges, never demanding anything of her. They laughed a lot, his simple charm and obsession with football was like a balm compared to Jimmy's unpredictability. She never had to worry about finding him stoned or passed out or stepping on needles.  
  
  
They didn't start out in a relationship, and never said that they were dating. They just started spending all of their free time together because they spoke the same language. They'd grown up together, Mickey and Rose. She didn't have to explain to him about her mum's desperate need for companionship and he didn't have to tell her that on the anniversary of his grandmother's death, he would rather just be left alone. It was easy to be with him. Like sliding into a pair of comfortable slippers. Her hand fit in his and she made him feel safe. In return, he made her feel needed.  
  
  
The distance between her mum's flat and his was easily traveled, and Rose found herself hanging out there most afternoons. They fell into a routine, Rose teasing him about the state of his flat, Mickey meeting her for lunchbreaks. Holding hands led to kissing, and kissing led to touching. Touching led to... nothing yet.  
  
  
There was never any question of her moving in with him. She'd made it perfectly clear that she was not ready for that step in a relationship again, and Mickey was all right with her having her own space, and with her not being in his space constantly reminding him to wash up the mugs or the plates or take out the trash.  
  
  
In all of the ways Jimmy had hurt her, Mickey was the opposite. Jimmy had been unreliable, quickfire and edgy, bordering on mean. Mickey was steady as the sun, loyal as a puppy, and, though slower than Jimmy, had a heart of gold. Jimmy had always had a bit of a wandering eye, but Mickey focused on Rose whenever she walked into a room. If her life was boring, too staid, too monotonous, Rose reminded herself that it hadn't been too long ago that life had been too exciting.  
  
  
It was one of the curious discoveries of her young life that one could be in a relationship and still be lonely. When she closed her eyes at night, she could feel Jimmy in the bed next to her, could hear the words of love he so rarely whispered, and that she treasured all the more for their rarity. If she so chose, she could remember the way he felt between her thighs, his lips on her breasts, his hot breath by her ear... and when she did, she felt so agonizingly empty.  
  
  
Life with Jimmy hadn't been good. She knew that, and if she ever confessed to anyone that sometimes she missed him – the smell of sweat, tobacco and alcohol and lust that lingered over his skin, and that she missed sex, the physical act of it, of needing and wanting and being filled – she would be lectured. It didn't make the nights any easier.  
  
  
The longer she went without, the more it dominated her thoughts. She considered herself to be savvy and modern but she was fairly convinced that women weren't supposed to be this obsessed, this hyper-aware. There were days she went without knickers under jeans, just to feel the delicious friction of her thighs rubbing together. She watched Mickey with the hungry eyes she remembered from her teenage years – watched him play footie and admired the pull of his muscles, the curve of his calves.   
  
  
It was lying in bed at night, thoughts of Mickey and Jimmy playing over and over in her head, that she made her decision. With Jimmy, he had always been the aggressor, always been the one to demand and to take. Mickey wouldn't mind having sex with her, she knew. She had caught him watching her with lust in his eyes, but unlike Jimmy he would never press, would never overstep his bounds. He was too afraid of losing her to press for something he wasn't sure she was ready for.  
  
  
Then again, Jimmy had been the only guy she had ever slept with. Things were sure to be different with a different partner. What would that change? Would it feel different? Would it still be good? Oh god --what if it wasn't?   
  
  
The only way to know for sure was to find out. And even though she thrilled at the thought, trembled at the thought, she knew in her heart that she had made her decision. Would it always be this difficult to take on a new partner? Would she ever do it the flip way her friends seemed to choose them?   
  
  
Tuesday was an odd day to have sex with someone for the first time, Rose thought, but there was nothing more delicious than Mickey fresh after a match. He always smelled good – sweat and something indefinably male. It was always hardest not to jump him when he came off the field to get his victory kiss. Or sometimes his conciliatory kiss.  
  
  
He played football with a group of his friends, and she and the other girlfriends sat on the sidelines of the pitch in the park and cheered them on, blankets and lawn chairs forming an informal group. In general, they were all a bit older than Rose, but she found she often had things to talk about with them, exchanging stories about the men they'd had before, the blokes on the field, and the trials and tribulations of every day life. But that Tuesday, Rose couldn't bring herself to talk about the sale at Henrick's or that Mickey had gotten a small raise at work. All she could think about was what she had planned for that evening.  
  
  
When the final goal was scored and Mickey trotted over, his hands raised in victory, Rose jumped to her feet and ran to meet him, enthusiastically kissing him, pressing her body close to his. Mickey's arms wrapped around her, his hands resting at the small of her back. When they pulled away, he gave a sheepish grin.  
  
  
“What's that all about?”  
  
  
“Must be your uniform,” Rose said cheekily, pulling at the red fabric with one hand.  
  
  
Mickey laughed. “Well, that's a bit of all right then, isn't it? The blokes were talking about going out for a beer. D'you wanna come down to the pub?”  
  
  
“No, I don't think so,” Rose said slowly, her hand sliding under his jersey to caress his flat stomach discreetly. “I thought you might be tired... We could go home, go to bed?”  
  
  
Mickey's eyes widened. “Are you... do you mean...?”  
  
  
Rose ducked her head, fingering the fabric of his uniform shyly. “Yeah, I do. I mean, if you want.”  
  
  
“Yes!” Mickey shouted and punched the air. “I'll just tell the blokes we can't meet 'em tonight. You wanna wait at the car?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and ran in the opposite direction.  
  
  
“Going down to the pub with us, Rose?” One of the women called as she gathered up her things, carefully folding her blanket.  
  
  
“Nope,” Rose said with a grin.  
  
  
“Lucky you!” Teresa said, winking broadly at her. “Enjoy him... I mean, your evening.”  
  
  
Rose blushed. “Oh, I think I plan to.”  
  
  
The drive home was full of awkward excitement, Mickey's hand grasping hers as he steered through the streets of London. They ran back from the carpark to his flat, kissing and touching and laughing all the way. Mickey fumbled with the key, trying to feel Rose up and turn it in the lock at the same time. Eventually, Rose broke away, turning the key herself and flinging the door open.  
  
  
Mickey followed her inside, kicking the door shut with one foot, his hands fast and hard against her flesh, pulling her t-shirt up over her head, and grinning at the lacy bra she'd donned for the occasion.  
  
  
“Rose...” he opened his mouth, closed it again, as though trying to find the right words.  
  
  
“Shut up, Mickey,” she said, laughing, pulling him towards his bedroom while she worked to get his jersey off. Soon he was naked from the waist up, and her eager fingers ran over his abdomen, tracing a light path up to his nipples.  
  
  
“Bedroom,” he said, his voice breaking a bit. Rose laughed and turned away from him, opening the door to Mickey's bedroom and pausing as soon as she stepped inside. Mickey brushed passed her, bending over to take off his shoes and socks. She leaned against the door jamb and watched him, admiring with a sort of clinical detachment the way that his shorts stretched over his bum. For some reason, broaching the door made her nervous. Her hands were sweaty and her stomach turned over and over.  
  
  
She thought, for one horrifying minute, that she might be sick.  
  
  
“Rose?” Mickey straightened, and froze when he saw the look on her face. “Rose... we don't have to do this, all right? We can wait until you're ready.” He crossed the room and cradled her face in his large hands. “No pressure, yeah? I'll put my shirt on, you put yours on, we can turn on the telly, watch Big Brother or somethin'...”  
  
  
“No.” Rose shook her head, one hand resting on his waist. She closed her eyes. “I lay awake at night, and I think about this. I think about you and me... I want this, Mickey. It's just that there's not been anyone since... well, since Jimmy and I think I might be a little...” she drew in a breath, “...I dunno. Scared.”  
  
  
“We'll go slow, right?” Mickey smiled at her, tugging gently on her hand until he was seated on the edge of the bed.  
  
  
Slowly, he brought her mouth down to his for long, slow kisses with open mouths. Their hands, they kept mostly still with a few soft caresses, his against the small of her back, hers at the base of his neck. The fire built inside of her again, a smoldering blaze that was so different from the explosion of lust she'd felt with Jimmy. She was starting to feel light-headed, her jaw just a little tired, when Mickey's mouth descended to her neck, kissing her pulse point, his breath hot. She threw her head back, her hands falling from his neck to grasp his arms.  
  
  
His fingers brushed lightly against her breasts, then left them just as quickly, tracing the line of her body, pausing in the curve of her natural waist, moving down to the band of her jeans and back up again. His touch was so featherlight it sent shivers up and down her body.  
  
  
“Beautiful,” he breathed, and Rose's eyes snapped open. Mickey's eyes were wide, patient and full of a deep love. She took a step back and kept her eyes on his as she undid the top button of her jeans, slid the zipper down and stepped out of them, leaving them carelessly on the floor. Deliberately, she sat next to Mickey on the bed and reached up, undoing the ponytail she'd thrown her hair into. Scooting back and turning, she laid on her back, her head against the pillow, and waited a few breathless seconds until Mickey crawled over her, jeans unbuttoned, to cup one of her breasts through her bra.  
  
  
Kissing again, and again, and again, until it felt like she'd been floating in a warm bath for days, possibly years. Gently, he squeezed his palm and she gasped, parting her legs just a bit. He kissed his way down her body, his tongue dipping inside her navel – something that always made her laugh.  
  
  
“Your stomach shakes when you laugh,” Mickey said, grinning up at her. “It's cute.”  
  
  
“I think I hate you,” Rose teased.  
  
  
“Not yet you don't,” Mickey returned, kissing the front of her panties. Rose arched her hips and spread her legs.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Hours later, in the pre-dawn darkness, as she studied his rising and falling chest in the bed next to her, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Maybe she wasn't broken like she thought she was... Or maybe she just liked sex.  
  
  
There hadn't been earthquakes and the ground hadn't moved. It wasn't like it was supposed to be in all of her mum's romance novels. It had been, well...  _nice_. Certainly nice enough that she would repeat the experience again, but not right in the way that sex with Jimmy had been right.  
  
  
Maybe that was just something that came with time, though. Or maybe that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Mickey was a good guy, and she knew that she loved him.She rolled over, kissing his chest affectionately and laughing at the way he wrinkled his nose.Her heart squeezed with affection and she sighed, laying her head back on her pillow.  
  
  
Yeah, this Jimmy Stone thing... it was healing.


	3. Companions

__  
It's all right for a woman to be, above all, human. I am a woman first of all.  
\--Anais Nin

“So, what's your fantasy?” Jack was laying on her bed, shoes discarded on the floor, his white t-shirt clinging to his well-defined chest and stomach as he interrupted her reverie. They'd just helped a village find a fresh source of water, and the Doctor was caught up in helping the chieftain negotiate an agreement with a rival tribe. There hadn't been a lot of running, but there had been some shouting. All in all, days like today often meant that she and Jack ended up decompressing in Rose's bedroom before Jack went off to have a drink in the library and she crawled in to bed for the night.  
  
  
“What'd you mean?” Rose asked, pulling her earrings out of her ears and placing them in a cup carefully filled with alcohol so that they could sanitize overnight. “Are you talking... sexually?”  
  
  
“C'mon, Rosie. It's me. What else would I be talking about?” He flashed a trademark grin at her and patted the bed next to him.  
  
  
Rose shook her head and walked into the adjacent bathroom, turning the tap on while she located her facewash. “I don't think about it all that often." Except when it comes to the Doctor.  
  
  
“You're a red-blooded twenty-year-old,” Jack teased. “You think about it all the time. No pressure, though, if you don't want to tell me.”  
  
  
Rose blushed and shrugged her shoulders, nearly jumping when she caught sight of Jack in the doorway, looking at her with bright eyes. There was just something about Jack that made her want to trust him, made her want to let him know her. “ I guess not as often as some other people. It's just... it was great with Jimmy, and then it wasn't. Great, that is. Sex with Mickey never really did the trick, you know? There was always something missing, like I was pretending or something... and it just never got better. I'd like to think I like sex but...” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders again.   
  
  
“I find it very likely that you like sex. Sex is fun, Rose. It's just got to be at the right time, you know. With someone that knows what they're doing. I thought you and the Doctor were sneaking off to have mad Time Lord sex while I was working out or something.”   
  
  
“We're not like that,” Rose said, opening a drawer to find a clean washcloth.  
  
  
“Do you want it to be like that?”  
  
  
Rose shrugged, reaching for the facewash on her sink and not missing the fact that Jack's hands crept ever lower down her back. “It's complicated, is all.”  
  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow at her and broke away from her body, leaning against the far wall to watch her face in the mirror. “Talking to the two of you is like trying to get a straight answer out of Elton John. Are you happy?”  
  
  
“What?” Rose blinked, honestly surprised. “Yeah. Seeing the stars, rescuing planets, running for your life... what more could you want? Was just a shop girl before. Now I'm...”  
  
  
“So much more,” Jack finished, smiling at her gently. Rose paused her ablutions to look at him. His eyes were soft and some how so sad.  
  
  
“What about you, Jack... are you happy?” Rose's eyes were steady and unyielding as she watched Jack on the reflective surface.  
  
  
He grinned. “More than you could ever know, Rosie. All of space and time, two fantastic --and, let's be honest, hot--companions... that's quite a life.”   
  
  
“Yeah, but is it enough?” Rose turned around, crossing the room to pat her face dry with the soft towel the TARDIS provided for her. “Just the three of us, running around space and time?”  
  
  
Jack smiled. “You know what I like about you?”  
  
  
Rose grinned, her tongue escaping from her mouth. “If I'm in a hurry, sometimes I forget to wear a bra?”  
  
  
Jack threw back his head and laughed. “One of my favorites! Not the favorite, though. What I like about you, Rose Tyler, is that you are incredibly special and don't even realize it.”  
  
  
Rose blushed. “I haven't done anything.”  
  
  
“You hold the Doctor together, you keep me in line.” Jack crossed the room and covered her hand in his. “You're twenty years old and you've just begun. It's fantastic.”  
  
  
Rose dipped her head so that her hair covered her eyes. “Jack, you don't have to be so nice to me, you know.”  
  
  
Jack turned her around and cupped her face both of his large hands. “Rose, every guy needs to be nice to you. You deserve nice, all right? You deserve someone who listens to what you want. You deserve someone who can provide what you want.”  
  
  
Rose closed her eyes against his presence. In the heady waters of Jack Harkness, she was afraid she didn't know how to swim. She hadn't felt like this since Jimmy Stone had told her that he needed her. It was exhilarating to be the object of his complete attention: at once empowering and weakening.  
  
  
If the Doctor was a fire, he was a smoldering one, steady and warm. Jack burned with the intensity of a bonfire. Like her, he was destined to burn himself out. He had an expiration date. His single heart beat in a rhythm against her back and seduced her. Still, his warmth was all wrong. If she were honest with herself, she knew it was the Doctor's calloused hands she wanted to feel over her own, knew that it was the Doctor's voice she wanted to hear telling her all of these things.  
  
  
“Jack, I can't...”  
  
  
“I know you don't want to sleep with me,” Jack said, moving her hair off of her shoulder so that he could kiss her neck and trail his mouth up next to her ear. “But... let me at least make you feel good. It's been a while, right?”  
  
  
Rose shuddered. The promise of pleasure in Jack's voice slowly beat against her defenses. She squeezed his hand. “I don't know..."   
  
  
“Just a little orgasm,” Jack said, pulling her body close to his so that they could stare in the mirror together. “Between friends.”  
  
  
He released her hands and lowered his to the waist line of her jeans, his mouth still playing along her neck, pressing gentle closed-mouthed kisses there, nipping occasionally as his deft fingers worked the button of her jeans. He unzipped them easily but then stopped. Lifting Rose's arms over her head, he gripped the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, exposing her chest. Just as quickly as he had unzipped her jeans, he unhooked her bra and let it fall off her breasts but not to the floor.  
  
  
Rose's breath caught at the sight in the mirror. Jack's fully-clothed body against her half-naked one, the bra clinging to her shoulders while her breasts escaped from it. She pressed back against him and felt the soft cotton of his shirt where skin would be. It felt wanton, deliciously forbidden to let him pleasure her while he made no move to let her do the same to him. Her mouth opened in desire and try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to move away from Jack and what he was doing.   
  
  
“Look at you, Rosie,” Jack said, his voice low and vibrating through her body. The scent of him, masculine and pure, wafted over her senses and she felt her nipples harden, could see it happen in the mirror.  
  
  
He reached under her bra and cupped a breast reverently, caressing it gently, and Rose felt a rush of liquid pool in the very center of her. She hadn't ached like this in a long while and she spread her legs, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.  
  
  
“Jack,” she breathed . Her mind was foggy, clouded with her desire and her confusion, and the sight of herself and him in the mirror. His face was intent as he fondled her breasts, his pupils dilated. He responded to every noise she made, every adjustment in how she stood.  
  
  
He released her breasts and pushed the fabric off her body, finally leaving her open to his perusal. “Rose, step away from the counter a bit,” he said softly. Rose didn't think to argue and her mouth dropped open a little bit as Jack sat up on to the counter and pulled her in between his legs so that his thighs were braced around his waist.  
  
  
His mouth touched hers so lightly that for a minute she wasn't sure it was a kiss. Then he deepened it. Long, slow, whiskey kisses that made Rose dizzy and built the pressure inside of her. His hands were never still, caressing the sides of her breasts and playing over the front of her jeans, pressing the heel of his hand against her. She ground her hips in to his hand and moaned, wanting more contact but not wanting to break the kiss.   
  
  
Jack slid her forward until the opening of her thighs rested against his knee-cap. Slowly, he thrust his leg, and Rose cried out, her eyes snapping open in surprise. Her hands flew up to brace against his shoulders and she ended the kiss, throwing her head back.  
  
  
He stilled her movements and waited until she brought her eyes back to him. "Are you sure?"  
  
  
Rose nodded and brought his hands to her waist. Together, they pushed the fabric of her jeans down until they landed in a pile on the floor of the bathroom. Jack paused and took in the sight before him. “Do you always wear thong underwear like that?”  
  
  
Rose smiled, fighting the urge to cover herself in the face of his (somewhat unusual) lack of nudity.  
  
  
“Well, then. That'll be something fun to think about while we run for our lives. I hope you don't mind always being in front from now on,” Jack teased.  
  
  
Without even realizing she had done it, Rose relaxed. “How is that different than normal?”  
  
  
“Not too terribly, except now I know what sort of dirty thoughts to have. Red lacy thong thoughts,” Jack said, spanning her hips with his hands and drawing her close for a kiss. “You sure you're okay with this?”  
  
  
Rose's mind raced. She loved Jack. She may not have been in love with him, but she loved him and he was here. She'd made her choice . “Yes.”   
  
  
Jack Harkness was a revelation, like light from heaven or a dam changing the course of the river of her life. When she thought about him after it was all over, after the Game Station and her Doctor changed, she often thought Jack was the turning point. Jack, for all that he was everything good and light and happy, was also a teacher. The more he taught, the more her love for him grew. But she knew, somehow, that she wasn't in love with him. She knew the clock was ticking.  
  
  
It still was difficult, however, being around both of them. She felt pulled in two directions – more strongly to the Doctor, and she knew she was a horrible person for even thinking it, but there were times during frustrated nights alone that she thought to turn to Jack for the things she needed that the Doctor couldn't or wouldn't give her. She'd always read in romance novels that when you truly loved someone, you couldn't think of anyone else that way but them.  
  
  
She was beginning to think romance novelists told very pretty lies. 


	4. Intimacy and Imagination

_Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through._

\--Anais Nin

“I'm sorry.” Rose stood, somewhat awkwardly across the room, her hands folded into her armpits as she gazed at the Doctor, who was very intently monitoring one of the screens on the console.  
  
  
“Eh?” He raised his eyebrows and lifted his head to meet her stare, silent for a long moment while he waited for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he prompted: “For what?”  
  
  
She sighed, crossing the distance between them to sit down on the jumpseat, patting the seat next to her. “For not being about to look her in the eyes. You were right, you know. What you were going to do, sending her back to her home planet. It was the right thing to do.”   
  
  
“Judge, jury and executioner, that's me,” the Doctor said blithely. “No worries, Rose. I'll be able to sleep tonight.”  
  
  
“No you won't,” Rose corrected. “You don't sleep.”  
  
  
“Time Lords sleep,” the Doctor countered, flipping a switch and cursing when whatever he expected to happen didn't. “Where's Jack?”  
  
  
“Having a drink in the library.” Rose brought her knees up and folded her legs on the jumpseat, watching the Doctor move around the console. Even when they just spun in the Vortex, watching him with the TARDIS was one of her favorite pastimes. She wondered sometimes if it was his alien physiology that made him so deceptively graceful.  
  
  
She'd always been fascinated by the way men moved – not entirely free of the artifice of women, so content to own all the space available to them. Jack and the Doctor didn't just sit -- they sprawled. When they walked there was swagger, there was pride, there was purpose. She recalled the way Mickey Smith had made his way down a football pitch and how that had made her feel in the pit of her stomach, the way Jimmy Stone had held a guitar that had thrilled her to his bones. The way Jack moved his body against hers in the cold of the night in the vortex that brought her so much pleasure.  
  
  
The Doctor seemed to sense her attention. "And why aren't you in the library?”  
  
  
“I like it in here,” Rose said, picking at the laces of her trainers. “It's soothing.”  
  
  
The Doctor made a sound that seemed to indicate he was okay with this answer. “I'm going to go underneath the console. There's a gear that's gone loose and the Time Rotor won't pump properly with it out of place.”  
  
  
Rose smirked. “So you're going to make sure this rotor pumps properly?”  
  
  
“Yes, that's what I said, isn't it?” the Doctor rolled his eyes impatiently. “Apes! You're so obsessed with sex.”  
  
  
Rose blushed, but didn't say anything to refute what the Doctor was saying, waiting until he was underneath the console to slide off the jump seat to find a spot near where his body lay. “I've been told that's because sex is fun.”  
  
  
“For your species, it is,” the Doctor said, and Rose could hear the faint humming of the sonic screwdriver. “Bananas in a honey mustard sauce!” he shouted, but the words sounded slightly off, like they always did when the TARDIS refused to directly translate something the Doctor said. “You know, you're a bit of a prude," he told his ship, off-handedly.   
  
  
“That's the problem with your species,” the Doctor continued, sliding out from underneath the console to meet Rose's eyes. “I can never have a relationship with one of you apes without the question of sex coming up. Do I have it, can we have it, where can we go to get more of it. Honestly, you waste so many brain cells on a basic biological function. It boggles the mind.”  
  
  
Rose grinned. “Maybe you waste too many brain cells thinking about how we waste too many brain cells.”  
  
  
The Doctor snorted, and the quiet hum of the TARDIS was the only sound in the console room for a long while. The Doctor puttered and Rose watched his stomach twist and turn, thinking idly of what he would look like without a shirt.  
  
  
“Do you have a belly button?”  
  
  
“Of course,” the Doctor said. “Had to have a place to feed us while we were in the womb," the Doctor said. “Rose, hand me that hundran juxtameter. It's the one with the curly-cue on the end of it. Bit of wire hanging off it?”  
  
  
Rose looked through his tools for a moment, locating what the Doctor wanted and passing it off to him. “So... did Time Lords have sex?”  
  
  
“Said I danced, didn't I?” The Doctor jumped when part of the TARDIS deeper inside the console caught fire. “Grab the fire extinguisher and get that, Rose, would you?”  
  
  
Well acquainted with how things went now, Rose ran across the room and grabbed the blue cylindrical container and aimed the spray at the flame. “Did we need that?”  
  
  
“Oh, probably.” The Doctor laughed. “It'll be more fun without it, that's for sure.”  
  
  
“What was it?”  
  
  
“A stabilizer. Supposed to help with landings. It's been on the fritz for a while anyway, not that you would notice. Don't need stabilizers, me.”  
  
  
“Only because Jack and I don't mind being tossed 'round like popping corn,” Rose teased.  
  
  
“So I've noticed,” the Doctor said dryly.  
  
  
“What's that supposed to mean?” Rose asked, blushing to the tips of her ears.  
  
  
“Doesn't mean anything,” the Doctor said petulantly. “Least he's better than Rickey the Idiot.”  
  
  
“Mickey was a good bloke,” Rose said, her voice trailing off and her eyes wandering to the ceiling. She could never shake the feeling of guilt deep in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought of Mickey. “He was there when Jimmy wasn't.”  
  
  
The Doctor paused in what he was doing, the silence more uncomfortable than it had been for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and his banging resumed. “That's hardly the twenty-first century social norm for what a good bloke's supposed to be, is it? What about true love and white horses and carriages, eh?”  
  
  
“Don't really need all that, do you?” Rose lay all the way back on the grating, staring at the ceiling, so impossibly high. “Not when you grow up on the Estate. Just settle for a bloke without a drug problem and a job when you grow up there.”  
  
  
“Fatalism's very unattractive in one as young as you,” the Doctor said pointedly. “Are your expectations realistic because that's the way things are, or are things the way they are because of your expectations?”  
  
  
“Very deep, Doctor,” Rose said with a laugh. “But hardly practical.”  
  
  
“You're not very practical yourself, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor threw back in her face, sliding out from underneath of the console one last time and tossing his hundran juxtameter into the tool box almost carelessly. “Taking up with an alien you know nothing about to travel about in time and space? Fighting Slitheen and Daleks and Gelth? Nothing practical about that.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose said with a blush. “It's been pretty fantastic.”  
  
  
The Doctor grinned one of his slow grins, and like butter melting over warm toast, something was soothed in Rose's soul and she shifted, stiffening in surprise when she felt the Doctor's slightly cooler form next to hers. He threw his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.  
  
  
“Dancing with a companion is complicated,” the Doctor said, his voice lower and huskier than Rose had ever heard it, and she swallowed, trying to stem off the flow of the images running through her mind.  
  
  
 _Naked flesh, rubbing together, his hands over her breasts, sliding over her hips. His eyes, so intent upon her face, the soft, sweet kisses so opposite the desperation in how fast their hands moved, how fast their hips moved. All of the universe in those eyes and they were locked on her.  
  
  
His voice, forming words the TARDIS would never translate, making her laugh with the silliness of them – the way he took advantage of her laughter to slip inside of her to the hilt, the look of ecstasy on his face. The feeling of homecoming._  
  
  
“We're different, you and I,” the Doctor interrupted. “You need sex. You crave it. I can go centuries without it.”  
  
  
 _The smell of grease and the taste of him. The soft sounds he'd make when she moved in just the right way._  
  
  
Rose blushed. “I... don't know what to...”  
  
  
“I very much like dancing, Rose. I have in other... lifetimes. I will again.” He reached for her hand, his thumb tracing lightly over the curve of her palm.  
  
  
 _Hands interlocking, wrest above her head so that they can't avoid eye contact. Her breasts are rubbing against his chest. If her nipples get any tighter she might explode and the friction is so good, so overwhelming. It's like he's touching every secret place in her and all she can see is him, and all she can smell is him._  
  
  
“I lost my people.” The Doctor's voice is so soft she can barely hear him, can barely believe the thoughts she's thinking. “Everything gone, in a single flash, and I was the one who pressed the button. A fire that burned like the center of time took my people, Rose. I don't know where I'm going or what I'm doing and all I've got left is this.”  
  
  
He squeezed her hand.  
  
  
 _His fingers, so thick and so deft, sliding down her and pressing against the bud of nerves he knew so well and she's coming, her face contorting and her back arching and she's putting pressure on her heels and it's exploding from the center of her._  
  
  
“All I've got left is me and you.”  
  
  
Her eyes had gone glassy, and he rolled over, cupping her cheek with one strong hand, the other still encased in her hand. It was too much for Rose – the powerful fantasy and the reality of this man, laying next to her on the floor. She couldn't tell which one she wanted more, but given the choice, Rose would always choose reality.  
  
  
Forcefully, she brought herself back to the present. She pressed her cheek into his hand and brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing them.  
  
  
“You've got me, Doctor. If you want me around.”   
  
  
“Rose, I – I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know that you don't always...”  
  
  
“I'm happy.” She beamed at him. “Traveling with you – I love it.”  
  
  
“Fantastic!” He looked at her, and they stared, completely content for a few seconds, until the Doctor flopped over on his back. After a moment, he jumped to his feet, rushed over to the console and pressed a few buttons, before coming back to lay down next to her. Instantly, across the ceiling was a view of the night sky. "View from Earth. England, actually."  
  
  
She passed the evening pressed into the Doctor's side, holding his hand as they gazed up at the stars. As lives went, it wasn't a bad one. She had the stars, she had all of time and space, and she had the Doctor and Jack.


	5. Realizations and Resolutions

_We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.  
\-- Anais Nin_

  
  


**Realizations**

  
  
Rose crumbled to the floor as soon as the blue door of the TARDIS swung shut behind her. Across the room, the Doctor flipped a series of switches and turned the dial in a familiar pattern before he bounded over to her to help her to her feet. "You don't want to be sitting here when we take off," he said softly, supporting her weight under her forearms with his hands. "Come on, up the ramp."  
  
Trusting him to lead her blindly, she curled into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck until he pressed the right button and the TARDIS lurched through the hole in the fabric of reality and pulled through dimensions to the Vortex they were familiar with. The TARDIS's distressed song settled into a tired version of what Rose was used to - the ship wasn't completely back to being her old self, but being in the right universe was good for her.  
  
Rose couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't hear, as some part of her rejected the separation from her oldest friend. She hadn't been able to save him from the pain of seeing her with the Doctor - hadn't even really bothered to try. She'd selfishly pushed Mickey away time and time again, only to pull him back when she needed a hit of confidence. It had been fun to have the Doctor and Mickey both trying to grab her attention. As wrong as it had been, she hadn't been able to stop herself, and the guilt of it mixed with her grief until she was inconsolable. The Doctor's hands against her back were her only anchor to the reality of the here and now.   
  
"Rose?" the Doctor asked softly, swaying gently to some beat only he could hear. "Rose?"  
  
"Mickey -- he was my best friend," Rose managed, hiccuping the syllables like she hadn't since was a very young girl. "He left me, and I  _deserved_  it," she spat. "I was such a bitch."   
  
The Doctor shook his head, pushing her gently off his shoulder. "Rose, he had a job he felt like he had to do."  
  
Rose pressed her hand against her mouth, pushing back against it to stave off the rising bile in her throat and taking a step back from the Doctor. "He didn't like me anymore," she whispered, the more powerful sobs slowly subsiding. "He helped put me back together after Jimmy Stone, and he didn't like me anymore."   
  
The Doctor rocked back on his heels, arms folded as he watched her pace the TARDIS floor in the ridiculous maid outfit. "He loved you. He thought he was getting in the way, that's all, and..."  
  
"He wasn't, though! Oh God. I feel..." Rose shook her head, trying to find the words. "I want to get out of these clothes. I want to get out of these shoes. I want to get  _out_."  
  
She took off down the hallway without waiting for an answer from the Doctor, running her hand along the wall, feeling the TARDIS whisper against the back of her mind, quieting some of the rage inside of her. There was no doubt in her mind that she loved the Doctor, and she loved traveling with him, but what had traveling with him done to her? Was the Rose Tyler from before the TARDIS and the stars the sort of girl who would treat Mickey like she had?   
  
Would the old Rose Tyler have asked him to come back with her? A voice whispered back to her. Would the old Rose Tyler have wanted him to give up his chance at happiness?   
  
It was true: Mickey was happy, confident, now that he'd saved the world - and more than just that. He'd seen the kind of man he could be. He'd looked alive, and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there since the death of his grandmother. Rose flung open the door of her bedroom and collapsed on her bed, wrapping herself around a pillow and screaming into it. Mickey'd looked so happy and it was because he was leaving her.   
  
 _You should have let him go_. Rose nodded, silently agreeing with the better voice inside of her head. She should have let him go ages ago. They should have told each other the truth. Then maybe he wouldn't have felt like he needed such a complete separation from her. When the Doctor said it was impossible to travel between universes, that was generally what he meant. The Doctor was a purveyor of the fantastic, and not much was beyond his ability in Rose's experience, and yet, the look in his eye had been so final.  
  
The door creaked as it slid open a bit, and the Doctor stuck his head in the room, tie undone and tuxedo jacket hanging open. She sat up a little in the bed, wiping her eyes. She didn't want to hurt him the way that she'd so obviously hurt Mickey. Things had been so much easier with Jack, who didn't seem to bruise as easily as the two men that had occupied her life recently. Jack was like a playmate - someone who instinctively knew the rules of the game, and more importantly, knew that it was a game. Things had always been more serious with Mickey and the Doctor. The Doctor was quick to cover up his pain, and Mickey to wallow in it, but she'd been too careless with both of them. If Mickey's gran had been there to see the way that she treated her grandson, Rose would've gotten a slap to the cheek. And, she thought self-piteously, she would have deserved it.  
  
"Rose?" the Doctor's voice was cautious. "I was thinking that we'd go and see your mum for a bit, let the TARDIS get some rest? If you want to, that is."  
  
Rose's heart broke all over again, and she kicked her shoes off, carelessly letting them fall to the floor by her bed. "Yeah, that'd be good. You gonna change?"  
  
The Doctor ruffled his hair, looking down at his attire with almost a surprised expression. "Oh, still in this, am I?"  
  
Rose laughed, in spite of herself. "Yeah. It was a good look while it lasted, for what it's worth. It suited you."  
  
The Doctor opened his mouth and closed it again. "Well, then. Can't chance Jackie seeing me in it then, can I? She fancies me, you know."  
  
"Oh, get out," Rose said teasingly, pushing him out the door and walking over to the box of tissues on her dresser, dabbing at her eyes. A shower, a change of clothes and a fresh application of makeup, followed by a long hug from her mum. That was exactly what she needed.  
  
A time later, feeling much more refreshed, if not much calmer than she had been when she stepped in the shower, Rose slipped on her trainers just outside the console room.  
  
"There you are," the Doctor said, decidedly less exuberant than he usually was, which Rose was grateful for. She wasn't sure she could take one of his manic moods until she'd seen her mother alive and well and  _herself_. The woman she'd encountered in the other universe, with her mother's face and name, who'd been so callous and hurtful to Pete... that hadn't been her mother. But it had been hard to separate the two, and some part of her was still convinced that her mother would be Cyberized when she saw her next. "If I've done this right, I'll land in your mum's kitchen. How's that?"  
  
Rose smiled. "As good a place as any. If you make it. Try not to land in the oven or something, yeah?"   
  
"Close to the kettle, Rose!" the Doctor said with a broad smile. "Priorities."  
  
"Yeah." Rose played with the edge of the console, and they settled into an uneasy silence as the Doctor brought the TARDIS to a stop. Rose was flying down the ramp before she'd even realized she'd sent her body into motion.  
  
Jackie Tyler, hair in a messy ponytail, readying a mug of tea -- the sight had never been more reassuring to Rose than it was in that one specific moment.   
  
**  
  
London was never quiet, but it wasn't noisy in the same way that the TARDIS was noisy. When Rose slept in her bedroom in the Doctor's ship, the steady hum of engines lulled her to sleep, and the song of the Vortex soothed her into good dreams. In London, cars rushing by, music playing, clangs and bangs and the sound of the neighbors having sex had to be her placebo. She curled herself up in her profoundly pink room and tried to remember the last night that such sounds had been been easy for her to embrace as she drifted off to sleep .   
  
When she gave up trying to sleep after hours of trying to trick her body into unconsciousness, she rolled over to see that the alarm clock read just after two in the morning. If the Doctor had slept at all, he would certainly be awake by now.  
  
Casting aside the awkward thoughts of what her mother might say if she caught Rose sneaking from her "proper" bedroom to the TARDIS, she padded her way down the hallway to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of mugs from the cupboard and set about making tea. A cuppa and a conversation might be just what she needed in order to grab even a few hours of rest.  
  
She was bone-deep tired -- emotionally overwrought and physically exhausted. She'd been in a lot of close scrapes with the Doctor before, but it had been a while since she'd hung from a barrage balloon like she'd hung from that rescue chopper's ladder, and while they ran nearly every day, for some reason her thighs and calves protested every movement she made. Feeling philosophical, Rose reached for the paracetamol in the medicine cabinet and popped a few of the nondescript white pills, swallowing them down with a gulp of water she cupped in her hand. She wouldn't suffer if she didn't have to.   
  
When the kettle whistled, she turned the burner off, pouring the boiling liquid over teabags, adding a dash of milk and two sugars for herself, then three sugars for the Doctor's mug. He would put four or five in at a time when he made his own tea, but that was more because he so rarely paid attention to what he was actually doing. Which might, Rose thought with a smile, explain a lot of his driving ability.   
  
The door of the TARDIS opened easily under her hand and she stepped into the bright green-tinged console room, looking about for the Doctor. If he wasn't here, there were hundreds of other rooms where he could be, and she would have to rely on the kindness of the TARDIS herself to help her locate him quickly. She was about to head down a corridor to begin her search when she heard humming coming from underneath the console.  
  
"And the man in the back said everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz," the Doctor hummed, his feet jerking in time from underneath of the console itself. "Ballroom blitz! Ballroom blitz! Ballroo-- Rose!" He'd slid out from underneath the console and beamed at her. "What're you doing here? Should be much too early in your sleep cycle for you to be this conscious."   
  
"Couldn't sleep," Rose said simply. "Brought you some tea."  
  
The Doctor looked at the proffered mug for a second, blinked and shook his head. "That was nice of you. Although, you really should be doing things other than tea-making. Like... snore-making."  
  
"Rough day. Sometimes I just need a cuppa to calm down."   
  
"Well, that's a bit counterintuitive. Tea has caffeine, you know. Upper for you lot. You're more likely to be awake for ages, now. Although there is something to be said for the positive emotions associated with a foodstuff. My personal favorite being rice pudding. Oh." The Doctor stopped babbling and coughed as soon as he noticed the blank look on Rose's face. "C'mon." He held his hand out, and Rose took it, as they both climbed up the supports to sit on one of the ledges overlooking the console room. Legs dangled over the side, mugs next to outside thighs, they leaned against each other for a long moment before either of them spoke.  
  
"I loved Mickey, once. Still do, love him, that is. Just not in love with him." Rose sighed. "I didn't mean to make him feel worthless."  
  
The Doctor squeezed her hand and drew in a breath. "Rose, there was nothing you could have done."  
  
"I could have -- " her voice trailed off and she reached for her mug, blowing across the top of it while she thought of the way to end that question.  
  
"You could have told me no," the Doctor said, and Rose turned her head to look at him. He seemed to be very carefully looking anywhere but her. "When I asked you to come with me, you could have told me no."   
  
"Yeah, but..." Rose kicked her feet. "I didn't want to."   
  
The Doctor grinned, tilting his head to the side. "Can't blame you there. I am rather brilliant."  
  
Rose laughed, despite herself. "Doctor, I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you."  
  
"Oh yes. Right. Sorry. What were we talking about? Mickey?"  
  
"Yes, him." Rose sipped from her mug as silence stretched between them. "Or, you know. We could talk about something else. I don't want to... Bore you or something."  
  
"I'm sorry." The Doctor said it suddenly, a little bit too loudly, and Rose raised her eyebrows at him. "For Pete. I know you were hoping for something... different."  
  
Rose shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, well. I'm not his daughter, am I? Bit silly to think he'd want... Oh, I don't know what I thought he'd want."  
  
The Doctor took a swallow of his tea and, setting the mug aside, laid back on the platform. "You thought he'd want you. I thought, for a minute, if he'd asked you to stay..."  
  
"No." Rose said it firmly. "It's always gonna be you. You and your ship and this life and your terrible driving, and the way you blow stuff up when you're trying to fix it..."  
  
The Doctor pretended to be affronted. "Rose Tyler, I am a  _fantastic_  mechanic." He slid down the support and landed with a clang on the grating of the floor. "And I'll give you a demonstration."   
  
"You are a  _terrible_  mechanic, and I know it. No need for a demonstration. Seriously, if you blow the ship up in my mum's kitchen, you'll never hear the end of it." Rose slid down the support, but before her feet could hit the ground, the Doctor was there, his thin frame pressed intimately against her body. His hand, so different than it had been the first time she'd held it, reached up to cup her face. She froze, remembering a night a lifetime ago when he'd done the same thing, and they'd talked about dancing. Rose thought it would end there as it ended then, but it didn't.  
  
They stood, bodies close, for far longer than they should have. Rose's heart raced in her chest, and she fought the urge to step back or forward, staying as perfectly still as she could. It wasn't as though she wasn't used to be close to him -- they often touched, but it wasn't this intense concentration. It felt like something might happen -- like she might finally lose control and  _do something_  about this electricity that crackled between them. Just as soon as she'd made up her mind to take the leap, the Doctor pressed his lips against hers. For a moment, there was only the delicious contact of skin-on-skin. Her hands went up to grip his shoulders, and when her mouth parted, he slipped his tongue easily inside.   
  
Being kissed by a man who had all the time in the universe was just a little bit overwhelming. He tried every angle, adjusting and finding the ways they fit best, letting Rose catch little breaths, but still she felt dizzy, as though the ground wasn't quite steady. Her hands slid down his jacket and back up again.  
  
Rose raised glassy eyes to his. "Um, wow. That was..."  
  
The Doctor grinned at her. "Yeah."  
  
She blinked, and shook her head. "I... um. Wow. It's just that -- what you were doing," she gestured vaguely with her finger, drawing a circle in the air. "That was nice."  
  
"I could... show you again. If you want," the Doctor said, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, scrunching his nose. "Or not. That's perfectly fine."   
  
"No, no!" Rose smiled at him, drawing him closer until their lips were just touching again. "Yeah, I'd like that." 

 

 

****

 

When Rose stepped out of the TARDIS late in the morning the next day, the Doctor had already gone. He left a note on the console that he was going to walk about town for a while so that she could spend the day with her mum. Whether or not she wanted to, Rose thought with a self-deprecating smile. She'd grabbed the mugs from where they'd been discarded on the support system and left them by the sink in Jackie's kitchen, still buzzing from last night's...events. They'd snogged against the wall for what seemed like ages, the Doctor's hands running over her body, but it had stopped abruptly when she yawned, and although she'd apologized profusely, the Doctor had stepped back, his eyes widening, and insisted that she go to sleep. Rose tried not to think too hard about the expression on his face when they'd parted. It had been shell-shocked at best, horrified at worst. Rose couldn't help thinking that he regretted what they'd done. The fact that he'd left before she woke up - well. She set her shoulders. She could handle that. He probably needed space. It wasn't everyday that you snogged your best friend against a wall. Unless you were very, very lucky.  
  
The flat seemed small, compared to where she was living now, but the advantage was that her mum was easy enough to locate. Sitting in a chair watching telly with a bag of crisps, Jackie had one leg crossed over the other and yelled periodic profanities at the screen. Rose grinned as she settled down in the sofa.  
  
"Did you get tea this morning?" Jackie asked, turning the volume down on the TV.  
  
"No. Took the Doctor a cuppa last night," Rose said, and grabbed one of the magazines from the end table adjacent to her seat. If she was going to have this conversation with her mother, she'd need some way to hide her eye-rolls.  
  
"Ah, is that what they're calling it now?" Jackie asked, raising her eyebrows and smiling.   
  
"No, it's not like that," Rose said patiently. "Just... couldn't sleep. The Doctor doesn't sleep, so it made more sense to bug him than you."  
  
"Where'd you lot go anyway?" Jackie demanded. "Where on Earth would you go that Mickey would want to stay, anyway?"  
  
"Alternate universe," Rose said, deciding in that moment not to tell her mum that there was an alternate universe where her husband still lived. "One where his gran was still alive."  
  
"Oh." Jackie settled back in her chair and rocked back and forth contemplatively. "She was such a lovely woman. Used to run herd on you and Mickey so that I could get some work done around here. Of course Mickey would want to stay where he could still have her."  
  
Rose felt tears she'd thought she'd cried out well up in her eyes. She wiped them off with the heel of her palm. "I'm still gonna miss him, though."  
  
"Of course you are, sweetheart." Jackie got up from her chair and plopped down next to Rose on the sofa. "I remember, we -- me and Mickey's gran -- you know, we used to talk about the two of you. She always had the right of it though; said your head was too far in the clouds to stay with her Mickey."  
  
"I didn't mean to hurt him," Rose said, leaning against her mother's shoulder. She'd said this all to the Doctor before, but maybe saying it out loud would reassure her. "I just got... caught up in everything and..."  
  
"I was starting to wonder when you'd grow up and realize that," Jackie said, not unkindly. "Mickey's not the only one you hurt when you've only got eyes for your Doctor."  
  
Rose sat, completely still for a moment. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I can't leave the Doctor."  
  
"Why not? What's so special about that Doctor of yours? If you took away the machine and the adventure, what's so special about him?" Jackie asked, raising her eyebrows. "You're never gonna settle down, Rose. You'll run from one end of the universe to the other, and what's he gonna do with you when you can't run anymore? Is he going to take care of you when you're old, Rose?" Jackie grabbed her hands and squeezed. "You're still so young. I want you to have fun, but -- a relationship with a man like the Doctor is exciting, but at some point, you're going to have to come home."  
  
Rose fought the urge to roll her eyes and didn't see the Doctor's paled, very still form in the corner. "I don't need all that other stuff, Mum. I have the Doctor, and he's fantastic. Our life is brilliant, and fun and exciting. This is so much better than any life I could live here."  
  
"Now," Jackie said. "But what happens in ten years, when you want a baby? Don't make that face, young lady, it happens to the best of us. Or twenty? Or thirty? Or forty? What happens when you're seventy, Rose, and he dumps you off on some planet because you can't keep up anymore?"  
  
"Yeah well," Rose said, rising to her feet and brushing her jeans off. "The Doctor's not gonna leave me. He promised me I could stay forever with him, if I wanted. And I promised him I would stay with him."  
  
Jackie sighed and dropped her head. "All right. I just... have these dreams. That some day, you'll change so much I won't know my own daughter. You'll walk like her, and maybe you'll talk like her, but you won't be Rose. You'll be just like him someday, won't you?"  
  
"There are worse things," Rose said, and stood to her feet. "I'm going to go for a walk."  
  
**  
  
Rose let the door shut behind her and stuffed her hands in her pockets, drawing in the air outside the flat through her nose and heaving it out with a sigh. She was down the stairs and nearly to the end of the block before the Doctor caught up with her, falling into place at her side silently until they came to an intersection.  
  
"Hi," the Doctor said, his greatcoat flapping behind him as the wind tossed it this way and that.  
  
Rose smiled at him but didn't extend her hand like she normally would have. "Hi."  
  
"Where are we going?" The light turned green and the Doctor had to jog a few steps to catch up with Rose.  
  
"Oh, anywhere," Rose said. "Just...for a walk."  
  
They passed by buildings and people at a fast clip, neither one of them talking. Rose eventually slowed, and the Doctor slowed with her, content to let her work things out on her own.  
  
"How much did you hear?" Rose asked suddenly.  
  
"Just... the end bits. And some of the middle." The Doctor coughed. "And the beginning bit... some of it, anyway."  
  
"Oh." Rose stopped outside of the local chippy and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry -- that's just Mum, you know?"  
  
"Yeah." The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "D'you want to go in?"  
  
"Sure." The Doctor opened the door for her, which wasn't unusual, really. Rose tried not to over-think it. Since the Doctor hadn't said anything about the kissing, she wasn't going to be the first to broach the subject with him.  
  
A short time later, they had chips with salt and vinegar, just the way the Doctor liked them. He'd convinced her that they were better this way, as well. Her mother's words beat in the back of her head but Rose shook them off. She wasn't turning into the Doctor. Not that it would be such a bad thing if she did.  
  
She studied the man sitting across from her. She hadn't thought about the ways he'd changed recently. Accepting that he could had taken her a bit, but once she'd wrapped her mind around it, it was just one more fantastic thing about her best friend. They'd sat across from each other like this on more than one occasion, but the first time, right after he'd taken her to watch her planet burn -- she remembered that one clearly. He'd been stoic, mostly still, moments of humor creeping up on him and surprising him as much as amusing him. He'd been in so much pain then. She could feel the waves of loneliness coming off of him, and it had made her feel -- well, needed. Warm. Now, he fidgeted in his chair, told jokes and amused her with stories without much prodding. He was happier, lighter, more open, easy with his affection. He still had his dark side, but it was harder to predict; buried under the surface, under babbling and a quick wit.  
  
It had shocked her, in the beginning, how much he'd changed and yet remained the same. He was still the same man, underneath it all, but he didn't seem to need her as much as his previous incarnation had. The comment last night, about him being worried that she would leave him had been the first indication in a long while that he had the same feeling as he had before his regeneration.  
  
He was waving a chip and talking. Rose shook her head, trying to focus on what he was saying, "-- so I said to Sarah Jane, 'didn't you mean Wimbledon in 1954?'" He threw his head back and laughed.  
  
Rose tried to laugh, too, but she had been lost in her own thoughts and didn't know why Wimbledon was funny. She decided to shift the conversation to what she wanted to talk about, and took a ruthless bite of a chip before she said: "Doctor, do you think I've changed all that much?"  
  
"Yeah," the Doctor said easily, waving a hand when Rose's brow crinkled. "Loads. Don't you think so?"  
  
Rose took a bite of her chip and studied the table. "Yeah, guess so."  
  
The Doctor sniffed. "Changing's not a bad thing at all."  
  
Rose snapped her head up. There was something about his tone that made her heart race again, but he was studiously looking out the window, not letting her see his eyes. Rose wanted to kick the table in frustration. "It's not? My mum doesn't like it."  
  
"She's your mum," the Doctor said dismissively. "You didn't like it in the beginning, either. That's the thing with you humans. In some ways your minds are so open. In others, you take a bit of convincing. Full of contradictions and inconsistencies, you lot."  
  
Rose shook her head, unwilling to let him deflect the conversation. "You didn't change all that much. You're not exactly a different person."  
  
"I'm not?" The Doctor's voice was mild, and he studied the chip in his hands like it held all of the answers.  
  
"You're different," Rose said, and reached for the salt shaker, flipping it absently. "But you're not  _that_ different."   
  
"I was never gonna be ready for you," the Doctor said softly. "I was never gonna be ready to... do any of it. The kissing, the promising. It just wasn't gonna happen."  
  
Rose nodded, although his words were like a kick in the chest, she'd often thought the same thing. "Yeah, well. It's not like I ever expected you to be a normal bloke."  
  
"You're not going to get tired one day?" His eyes were intense. "This life -- running around, never settling down -- that's always going to be enough for you? Because that's all I can promise you. That's the only thing that's gonna stay the same."  
  
"No, I'm not going to get tired." Rose sipped her soda, wrapping her foot around one of his ankles. "So long as it's me 'n you, in the TARDIS... that's all right."  
  
"Rose, I don't know --" The Doctor looked out the window. "I'm rubbish at this -- stuff."  
  
"We'll figure it out," Rose promised, something inside of her settling. "No rush, yeah? I've been waiting this long. I can wait some more."  
  
**  
  
Jackie was sitting on the couch, cutting out coupons and placing them in hapless stacks on her coffee table while the CD player in the corner blasted out music from the eighties, in the era of the hair metal bands. The Doctor wrinkled his nose and stepped in the living room, hands in his pockets.  
  
"I told you I'd take care of her," he said softly.  
  
"No you didn't," Jackie returned easily. "You said you'd always bring her back to me." She smiled at him. "Have a seat, Doctor. You make me nervous when you stand over me like that, you gangly awkward thing."  
  
The Doctor's jaw dropped. "Oi! Gangly and awkward?"  
  
"Don't give me that look, you know it's true," Jackie said teasingly. "My Rose will have told you often enough."  
  
The Doctor found himself sitting in the chair opposite the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. "Jackie..."  
  
"You know I'm right." Jackie put down the scissors and studied him. "That life of yours -- she can't have that forever. She's twenty-one and thinks she's got it, but she doesn't. And you and I both know that. What do you plan to do with my little girl when she's sixty? Seventy?"  
  
"I've stayed put before," the Doctor said softly. "When it's really mattered. I could stay in one place, look after her..."  
  
"If this is what the both of you want," Jackie said, "I think that's wonderful. She looks at you with those eyes and I remember Pete and being that young. I couldn't stop you if I wanted to -- but, for me? Will you promise me to take care of her? She deserves it. It hasn't been easy, growing up on the Estate, having me as a mum... I did my best, but... Well. Will you promise me, Doctor?"  
  
He studied his hands carefully. "There was a time when I couldn't. But... I think..." his voice trailed off and he drew in a shaky breath. "I think if there's one person I can make that promise about, it's Rose."  
  
Jackie nodded. "Good."  
  
The Doctor stood, and was nearly out the door before he turned around one last time. "Jackie?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
**  
  
  
Standing in the TARDIS's shower, which she used for the endless supply of hot water, Rose let the spray pound down on her and soothe away her aches and the weight of the day she'd just had. Already, being in the flat with Jackie was pressing down on her and the voice inside of her was telling her to do something about her itchy feet. She turned off the water, squeezed the remaining water out of her hair and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a towel. She opened the door to her bedroom, crossing the threshold and walking to the vanity to find her body lotion. There was a soft knock at her door. Cinching her towel tighter around her chest, she crossed and opened it to reveal the Doctor.  
  
His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, his collar gaping open. As carefully layered as he usually was, it was frighteningly casual for him. Rose swallowed. "Something wrong?"  
  
"No." The Doctor closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. "I just... came by to say 'hi'."  
  
"Hi." Rose laughed. "Doctor, I'm in a towel. Can this wait a minute?"  
  
"Yes, I saw. The towel, that is. Not that I'm noticing because I'm, you know... that's not to say you're not attractive, it's just that you're, you know, naked under that and I'm um... just..."  
  
Rose giggled. "Doctor, it's all right. I'll get dressed and we can... do whatever, okay?"  
  
"Do you have to?" the Doctor asked. "I mean, not that I don't appreciate you when you're clothed, and I'm not suggesting... Oh, bugger me. Rose?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"The thing of it is that I don't really want to wait." He sniffed. "You know, to... I mean, we were good at the snogging bit, right?"   
  
Rose's mouth dropped open a little and she laughed. "Well, yeah. Bit more than good, I should think." She laid her hand on the door frame, just inches away from where his hand rested.  
  
"If the snogging bit was good, that leads me to believe that other...things...might be enjoyable as well, and..."  
  
"All right." Rose said shyly.  
  
"All right?"   
  
"Yeah." She stepped aside. "C'mon in." She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously as he entered the room, his eyes darting over everything except the bed that was pressed up against one wall. He'd been in here before, of course, but never in this context. She swallowed, her knees going weak and her stomach tightening in her belly.  
  
The Doctor turned, holding out his hand. She took it, and he drew her in to him until they were standing, his arms wrapped around her body, his chin on the top of her head. Rose took a deep breath, smelling him and forcing herself to relax.  
  
"Can I kiss you again?"   
  
"Yeah." She tilted her head up, and he tilted his down and it was as she'd remembered. His kisses tugged powerfully at her core -- an echo of something. She'd been kissed like this before, and not just the previous night either. Sometimes, Rose fancied she could believe in previous lives and reincarnation. Surely there had been other times she'd been held by this man, when it felt so familiar and right.   
  
His hands cradled her head and she settled hers around his waist as he patiently seduced her with his kisses, lulled her into a sense of quiet and calm. It went on forever, the kissing, until he moved his mouth from hers and slid his tongue down to press open-mouthed kisses to her neck. She buried her fingers in his hair, his hand bunching up in the towel wrapped around her body as though he would pull it from her. Rose stilled his movement.  
  
"Bed, yeah?"  
  
He paused. "I reckon it's easier to do this bit laying down."  
  
"Yeah." Rose blushed, but she didn't hesitate in crossing the room and laying down on the bed.  
  
The Doctor removed his shoes and took off his socks before he crawled on the bed next to her. His hand snuck in between the folds of her towel, resting on the bare skin of her stomach. Rose closed her eyes as he drew light patterns on her flesh with the pads of his fingers. She shifted, somewhere between amusement and arousal, when he removed one half of the towel from her body. He bent his head, taking her breast into his mouth and sucking lightly. Rose arched her hips and made a sound of appreciation.  
  
"Good," the Doctor breathed, and pushed the other half of the towel off her body. Rose stiffened. He laid one of his hands across her stomach and moved up, kissing her on the mouth until she relaxed again. "You're beau -- Would you look at that? My manly hairy hand on your stomach is huge. I bet I could cover your whole stomach with my hand."  
  
Rose laughed, tossing her head to the side. "Doctor, you're supposed to be seducing me."  
  
"Oh, was that it?" the Doctor teased, his tongue playing at the tip of his teeth. Rose wanted to launch herself forward and capture that tongue, but the weight of his hand on her belly prevented her from moving -- if not from physical force, then from intent. "I'm so sorry. Seduction is serious business. No time for laughing here."  
  
"Oh, there's always time for laughing," Rose said, and pulled his tie from his collar. "Let's just get a bit more clothes off first, yeah?"  
  
He grinned. "Brilliant."  
  
**  
  
Later, when the sweat cooled on their bodies and they lay spooned together on the bed, Rose gathered her courage. "Doctor?"  
  
"Hmm?" He was writing the entire Gallifreyian alphabet on the sensitive skin between her breasts. If he didn't stop that, she wouldn't ever find out just what had spurred him into action. But it felt lovely...  
  
She shifted, moving closer to him. "Never mind."  
  
"Are you sorry that you waited for me?" the Doctor asked. "I know I'm not human. It might've been... different than you expected. Not in a good way."  
  
"No." Rose turned, sad to lose his magic fingers, but wanting him to see the expression on her face. "It was good. Better than good. And we'll get even better than that."  
  
"You'll be the death of me," the Doctor said, half-seriously, "if it gets better than that."  
  
Rose laughed. "Something to look forward to."  
  
"Yeah. Absolutely." The Doctor leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes. "I might want to sleep first, though."  
  
Rose smiled. "All right." She flicked the bedside lamp off and curled into his side, listening to his left heart beat steadily.  
  
The rhythm of that and the hum of the TARDIS lulled her until she was almost asleep, and she smiled when she felt the Doctor weave their fingers together. He hadn't fallen asleep yet, either. Rose wondered at the strangeness of her life now. He wouldn't have laid like this with her before the regeneration. He told her himself he wouldn't have kissed her. They wouldn't have said "forever". Every day tugged them closer and closer together -- her quick, wonderful alien, and her human heart that kept expanding to love every part of him. If she was changing, then he was changing too -- they were evolving together. And it was fantastic.


	6. A Life Unimagined; A Life Fantastic

  
_“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”  
\-- Anais Nin_

 

**A Life Unimagined; A Life Fantastic**   


  
  
She felt the hand around her waist before she'd even registered his presence. "Happy birthday!" he said cheerfully, kissing her on the cheek and bounding off toward the bathroom. Rose shook her head, fixing earrings in her lobes.  
  
"Good morning to you! And do you know, there was a time when I couldn't have stood in my bra and knickers in front of the mirror without getting shagged," Rose teased, throwing open her jean drawer.   
  
"Saving my energy," said the Doctor, peeking his head out through the door to flash a grin at her. "I expect to get jumped tonight."  
  
"What do you have planned, besides the party?" Rose asked, snapping her jeans out and then stepping into them. "Something big and romantic?"  
  
The Doctor stepped out of the bathroom, his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. He was as skinny as he'd ever been, with tinges of grey at his temples and laugh lines that ran deeper than the frown lines around his mouth. "That would be telling, yeah?"  
  
"Just remember your last big romantic thing," Rose said patiently. The Doctor stepped into the room and wrapped his arms around her waist again. "Pete still whines about the bill to repair the inside of Downing Street."   
  
"It was a good time, though," the Doctor said with a grin.  
  
"You've mentioned that a time or two," Rose said, reaching for a t-shirt.  
  
The Doctor stilled her hands, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "How many kids do we have again?" he asked teasingly, his fingers spanning her waist.   
  
"Two. If you need a refresher course, I could go wake them up," Rose said, elbowing the Doctor lightly in the stomach.  
  
"And how old are you?"  
  
Rose rolled her eyes, seeing where he was going with this. "Forty."  
  
"Hmm." The Doctor captured her lips in a kiss. "You'll do, I guess."  
  
"Oooh, you just never want to get laid again, that's what you're saying," Rose said.  
  
The Doctor grinned and smacked her bottom as he walked away. "You'd never be able to resist me, Rose. I am a sex god."   
  
"Is that so?" Rose pulled a shirt over her head and turned to face him, hands on hips.  
  
"Wellll," the Doctor drawled, dropping his trousers and searching for a pair of pants. "That might be exaggerating a bit."  
  
"Hugh Jackman is a sex god," Rose said, watching him appreciatively. "You are just some bloke I'm shagging until he comes to his senses and realizes he's desperately in love with me."   
  
"Oi! Has Hugh Jackman ever become human just to get to spend his life with you?" The Doctor asked, looking more than slightly ridiculous as he tried to work his legs into boxer briefs.   
  
"Hmm. Good point. You do set the standard rather high," Rose said, pulling on her earring and struggling not to laugh. "I'll have to think about this."  
  
"What is there to think about?" The Doctor settled his boxers into place and adjusted himself. "Why have Wolverine? He's scary, manly, and hairy. And I'm scary, manly, and hairy. Besides, I know all the tricks. You've spent years training me. Why go through all that effort again?"  
  
Rose laughed. "And it's going so well."  
  
The Doctor cocked his head to the side. "I think so. What do you think, Rose? Should I wear the suit today? Be just like old times, eh?"  
  
"You're wearing the tux tonight," Rose informed him. "So it depends on how nostalgic you're feeling, I guess."   
  
"Bad stuff happens when I wear the tux," the Doctor informed her glumly. "Do I have to?"  
  
"Yep," Rose said, popping the "p".  
  
"You know, it's disturbing how... irritating that is when someone other than me does it," the Doctor noted.  
  
Rose smiled at him and then ran her fingers through her bob. "Okay. I'm ready to go. You?"  
  
"Yep," the Doctor popped the "p", grinning smugly at her as he buttoned his trousers. "Rose?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. "You still would rather have me than Hugh Jackman, right?"   
  
"You've got the mind of a thousand-year-old alien, and the hormones of a fifteen-year-old boy," Rose said, winking at him. "Yeah, I'm all right."  
  
Rose had never imagined she'd have a life like this. Or maybe she had, but it was so far back in her memory that she'd forgotten ever having the same thoughts as the little girls in her classes at school. She'd seen her mother struggle to provide for her, and had started working at a young age to help. Then it had been Jimmy Stone, Mickey... and with those two she never saw herself settling down into a flat on the Estate and having kids. Then she'd met the Doctor, and some part of her had come alive, or some missing piece of her had found where it fit in to the puzzle. She'd loved traveling, loved the adventure, loved the Doctor. She would never have asked him to give it up for carpets and a mortgage, and the idea of kids on the TARDIS had been laughable.  
  
She still remembered the look on his face when he'd told her, in 2012, that he'd been a father once before. She hadn't wanted to pry, hadn't wanted to open up that wound until he was ready to volunteer more information. And, she'd been hurt by the fact that he'd never told her, never confessed that part of his life to her.  
  
Then she'd crossed the Void to get back to him, and they'd saved the multiverse from collapsing, and he'd brought her back to this one, with her human Doctor. A Doctor who could offer her all of the things that she didn't think that she'd ever want: A lifetime of doors and carpets and mortgages -- and children, though that decision had come later.  
  
What she hadn't anticipated was how much of an adventure living with her human Doctor would be. Working for Torchwood hadn't been exactly boring before, but with the Doctor, it was fun again . Pete grumbled about having to increase the budget for fire extinguishers, but that was an exaggeration. They were much more efficient with the Doctor's expertise, and although he had struggled at first without the TARDIS, he'd adapted eventually to living without it.  
  
"I've been stranded before," he'd told her.  
  
He wasn't very good about keeping records at work, but at home he had four leather bound journals in which he kept painstaking records of everything that happened to him, written in a mixture of English and Gallifreyan. "There are some things, Rose, that I just can't translate."  
  
It wasn't as though he found living on Earth in the twenty-first century confusing. At least, not any more confusing than she had, coming from a different universe. They both still got itchy feet, taking off on trips at the drop of a hat, even traveling for Torchwood. They'd been gone so often that for the first five years of their life in Pete's world that Jackie had complained she saw them more when they had a TARDIS.  
  
Still, they settled into a sort of pattern. Getting up in the morning, going to work, lots of running, chips or curries or sandwiches for lunch, separating after to go to labs and offices, driving home and gossipping about coworkers or discussing the latest theory in physics. Sometimes Rose even understood what the Doctor tried to explain to her.   
  
Then the pattern changed. It changed unexpectedly, late one evening as they sat across from each other at the kitchen table poking at Chinese food, feet comfortably tangled beneath the table.  
  
"I watched you," the Doctor said, "with Nan's daughter today."  
  
Rose shrugged her shoulders and scooped up some of her noodles, trying to play casual with something that had been building up inside of her for a while. "She was scared. I would be, too, with zombie-things after me."  
  
"We need to come up with a better name for those aliens," the Doctor said, waving a piece of beef at her. "Still... I've been wondering."  
  
"Yeah?" Rose calmed her beating heart. It wasn't that she was scared to tell the Doctor, that if he was willing, she was willing. It was just that she never wanted to imply that the life they were living together now somehow wasn't complete, because it was. It was just that there was a secret tug in her stomach when she held a child in her arms, whenever one of Donna's little boys would scream her name from across the room and run over to her to tug her legs.   
  
"Are kids something you want, Rose?" The Doctor's face was open and without expression.  
  
Rose hated not knowing what he thought. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it before. I... sometimes, yes. I know you were a father before. I don't know if it's something you want, or..."  
  
The Doctor just nodded, drawing in a long sip of his soda. "We can think about it, if you want."  
  
"Yeah." Rose nodded. "Okay."  
  
It hadn't been an easy decision. They'd wavered back and forth. The Doctor, for all that he was human, clearly remembered what it was like to be a Time Lord and to lose everything. Rose didn't know all that much about children. In the end, the decision was made for them.  
  
**  
  
"Doctor!" Rose was running through an empty warehouse, a Xactran close behind her. "Doctor!"  
  
He came skidding to a halt in front of her. "Rose, duck!" He fired the tranquilizer gun once, and when that didn't slow the creature, he fired it again. With a roar, it crumbled to the ground.  
  
"You could have been a bit quicker with that," Rose panted. "I would've been Rose-flavored jam and then who's gonna make the toast in the morning, eh?"  
  
"Rose?" The Doctor was staring off at a side door. He ran over to it and tested the handle, waving his sonic screwdriver over it.   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why do you suppose that's locked?" The Doctor waggled his eyebrows at her. "We were getting traces of a Xactran energy coming from this building and it's centered in that room."  
  
Rose beamed at him. "Could be trouble. We should wait for backup."  
  
"We should," the Doctor agreed seriously, flipping his sonic screwdriver in his hand. "But it'd be a lot more fun to go in without."  
  
"We don't even know if there's cause for concern," Rose said, already walking in the direction the Doctor had pointed. "No use in wasting everyone's time if we don't have to."  
  
"Absolutely not," the Doctor said, and aimed his sonic screwdriver at the steel door's hinge. "Don't need to endure another of Pete Tyler's lectures on using resources wisely." He gave a shouted laugh when the door clicked open. "Brilliant! In we go!"  
  
He took a step inside the room and looked around, and took a sniff of the air. "Rose?  
  
"Yeah?" Her hand was on his back, and he wasn't soon enough to stop her from going in the room. "Oh. Oh my God!" She rushed forward, past the Doctor. "What's this?"  
  
"'Who's this?' would be slightly more accurate," the Doctor said, standing some distance away from the human body on the floor as Rose turned it over. "But if I had to guess, I would say that is a clone. Bred for intelligence. The Xactrans are notoriously power hungry but not very bright. And they know it, so..."  
  
"Clones," Rose breathes. "This one's young."  
  
"And unconscious. Back up, Rose," the Doctor said firmly. "He'll be trained to defend himself."  
  
"He can't be more than six or seven years old!" Rose protested. "How much damage can he do?"  
  
The Doctor gave her a look that suggested that perhaps she'd dribbled on her shirt a bit. "He's not nearly that old, Rose. They'll have been feeding him clone feed, for one. And secondly, you know better than to trust appearances."  
  
The boy twitched, and Rose jumped back, her heart racing in her chest. The Doctor held her hand and tried to push her behind him. "Doctor," she hissed, "stop it."  
  
Suddenly, instead of attacking them with a grenade launcher or something equally as exciting, the boy came awake with a strangled sob. Rose dropped the Doctor's hand and rushed forward, laying her hand gently on the boy's back.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked, knowing the question was ridiculous but unable to think of anything different.  
  
"No," the boy whined. "My head hurts."  
  
"What happened?" Rose asked, gently helping the boy turn over on his back. "Doctor, you might want to come look at him. He's bleeding."  
  
The Doctor crossed the room and knelt next to Rose, running his sonic screwdriver over the boy's body. "What's your name?"  
  
"Matthias," he said, closing his eyes. "My head hurts."  
  
"All right, Matthias. Take it easy." The Doctor ripped part of his shirt off and tied it around the boy's bleeding head wound. "What happened?"  
  
"Clone revolt," Matthias said, almost mechanically. "The Xactrans are gone, but I was too little to catch my brothers and sisters. The rift closed."  
  
"Still getting traces of Xactran power," Rose said, studying her rift monitor. "Maybe we can manipulate it so that we can get you home. Doctor?"  
  
"The Xactran Clone Revolt," the Doctor said, sitting back on his heels. "Oooooh, you are anachronistic, you are. You're at least a hundred and fifty centuries out of your timeline. Traveling through time and space with what? A mass vortex manipulator? Your brothers and sisters are going to be lucky to land anywhere near their home planet. And if they do, I imagine there's going to be a horrible, bloody coup. If I were taking a guess." He sniffed. "I could be wrong about that."  
  
"We can't send him back to that." Rose looked over at him. "He's a human, right?"  
  
"Well. Close enough. Some minor biological differences. Slightly faster synapses. Matthias." Matthias looked up at the Doctor. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose. We work for Torchwood. We're going to try and get you home, but if we can't, well... no worries either way, all right?"  
  
Matthias slowly nodded his head. "All right."  
  
**  
  
Manipulating the rift had proved as impossible as the Doctor had feared it would, and they'd spent a long few days drifting between the hospital and their flat. When the boy finally recovered from his head injury, there was no question of where he'd go. It would be too difficult to explain to authorities the slight differences in his biology and he'd already formed a close attachment to the Doctor and Rose.  
  
Two years later, they had another baby. The Doctor had gone round and round with her about names, dismissing those he didn't like, and eventually they settled on a Earth name the Doctor liked as much as she did.  
  
And so it was that on the morning of her fortieth birthday, Rose had a petulant twelve-year-old Matthias and a cranky four-year-old Anna to deal with. They were both smart -- smarter than she'd ever hope to be, but they also both bore other characteristics of their father that made him less than appealing from time to time.  
  
"Wake up!" Rose flipped the lights on in Matthias bedroom and tapped her toes as he buried his head under the pillow. "C'mon now. You're going to be late to school, I'm going to be late to work and your grandad'll kill me if I miss the meeting this morning because you couldn't get a move on. Light a fire under those feet. Let's go."  
  
The next door over was Anna's and she parted her daughter's hair with a gentle hand, shaking her. "Anna, it's time to open those eyes. We've got school and you've got to pick out an outfit."  
  
The next fifteen minutes were filled with the somewhat involved process of getting Anna ready for school. She'd inherited her father's penchant for fashion, and had to match exactly. Rose sometimes sighed and rolled her eyes, but at the end of the outfit choosing process, Anna would calmly ask for either pigtails or a single ponytail, and Rose would brush her daughter's unruly hair until it was tame and somewhat willing to cooperate. In the next room over, she could hear the Doctor pounding on Matthias's door and his reminder that they were going to be leaving soon.  
  
They all grabbed breakfast running out of the door. Rose felt a moment of guilt that they weren't all sitting down, chatting over newspapers or something equally domestic, but she never managed to get her children, herself or her Doctor up early enough to do that on the weekdays. Matthias they dropped off at the bus stop and sped off towards Anna's nursery school. She was so used to be dropped off there it was hugs and kisses and a quick word to have a good day, and the Doctor and Rose headed off to Torchwood together.  
  
The car was parked and they were nearly at Torchwood's main building before the tabloids realized they'd arrived.  
  
"Rose! Rose! Rose!" She grimaced as they swarmed her and the Doctor as they tried to make their way to the door. The Doctor's hand gripped hers firmly.  
  
"Good morning, lads," the Doctor said cheerfully. "This is a bit much, take a few steps back, all right?"  
  
"Rose, how does it feel to turn forty?"  
  
"Did you recently, as Anna Harwood suggested in Page Six of the New York Times, get a tummy tuck and a boob lift?"  
  
"There are rumors of an upcoming split with you and Doctor Smith. Can you give any truth to the rumors?"  
  
Rose shook her head. "You know I don't like cameras in my face so early in the morning," she said sweetly. "Just take a step back, all right?"  
  
"Ms. Tyler, there are rumors that you and the Doctor no longer sleep in the same room! What can you say about the rumors that you're a completely sexless couple?"  
  
Rose sighed. "These questions get more and more ridiculous every year," she said under her breath to the Doctor.  
  
"People are bored," the Doctor said, moving forward and keeping his head down. "Really, lads, you need to let us into work. Alien invasions. Saving the day. This is all really important stuff you're getting in the way of."  
  
"What do you say to rumors that Matthias has been disinherited by his grandfather because he's not a blood Tyler?"  
  
Rose saw red. "Oi. Listen, you pillocks. I'm only going to say this once today. I don't feel any different at forty than I did at thirty-nine. I still love my husband. We still have sex, which is quite frankly none of your business. My children are none of your business and you need to get out of my face. There, I threw a fit and you got your story. Go away now."  
  
The Doctor opened the door of Torchwood and shut it firmly behind him, shutters clicking like mad as he drew Rose into an embrace. "At least it's not everyday anymore."  
  
"One of these days my head's just going to explode and my only consolation is that one of them will probably be close enough that I'll take him or her out with me," Rose said crossly. "It's getting so that I hate birthdays and anniversaries."  
  
The Doctor leaned down and kissed her on the lips, a rare show of public affection for them. "I'm going to the lab."  
  
"See you after work," Rose said tiredly.  
  
**  
  
The day was long -- meetings and then conference calls and then a mild disaster that took both her and the Doctor to solve. By the time she picked up the kids from school and got back to the house, both she and the Doctor were ready to call it quits for the day. But then there was homework, and all of the other little chores of motherhood in the afternoon. She left the Doctor to make sandwiches for supper for the kids and made her way up the stairs.  
  
The soaker tub had been an indulgence, but it fit both her and the Doctor comfortably. She had fond memories of laying in a lukewarm bath with the Doctor during the last part of her pregnancy, his knees on either side of her body as they relaxed together. She turned the tap on as hot as it could go and dumped a capful of bubbles in the water. If a girl couldn't pamper herself before her fortieth birthday party, when could she?  
  
Stripping herself, she was naked by the time the bath finished running. She stepped inside the tub with a sigh and clipped her hair back, closing her eyes for a few moments. It was quiet in her bathroom, far enough away from the noise of the Doctor and the kids in the kitchen that she could imagine she was the young girl she'd once been. With a laugh, she reached for her loofa and dotted it with body wash. Some of her most profound moments had taken place in bathrooms. She'd mourned the cruelty of a boy she hardly remembered in the shower. When Jimmy Stone had run off with what's-her-name and she thought her life was coming to an end, she'd lain on the bathroom floor, the coolness of the tile somehow comforting against her cheek as she tried not to throw up all of the alcohol she'd consumed to forget him. When Mickey had left, she'd washed her hair over and over again... and when she'd fallen through the void without her Doctor -- her heart clenched just thinking about it -- she'd stood under a punishing stream of water for hours, until Jackie had thrown the door open and removed her from the shower, hugging a towel around her and telling her that it would be all right.  
  
Things really had turned out for the best. All the pain she'd come through, all the men she'd loved and been loved by -- she'd ended up with a fantastic life. Two children and a house that wasn't bigger on the inside, a husband who was as much a child as he was a parent sometimes. Growing up on the Estate, this hadn't been her dream. But only because growing up on the Estate, she'd never thought she'd have a chance at this.  
  
Rose shifted, the water swishing pleasantly around her. A glance at the clock on the sink let her know that she'd languished long enough. She washed efficiently and let the tub water drain, pulling on her dressing gown and throwing open her bedroom door. "Anna Jane, do you want to come help Mum get dressed?"  
  
Her daughter squealed and raced up the stairs, sitting at her bench on the vanity. Rose carefully chose her make-up. It'd gotten a little less dramatic since she'd had children, but she remembered sitting on her own mum's bed watching Jackie put on her paints and dab her perfumes. She took her time, explaining how to apply the foundation lightly and still get good coverage, how to line her eyes with a black pencil. She let Anna pick out which eyeshadow she would wear among two choices and brushed a little bit of blush over Anna's cheeks. They were giggling together over lip gloss when the Doctor opened the door.  
  
"Well, aren't you two just lovely?" he beamed at her, sticking his hands in his pockets. Rose felt a wave of love wash over her. Most of the time it didn't strike her so obviously anymore. It was a gentle beat of her heart, there but hardly noticeable. Except for on days like today.  
  
"Anna picked out my eyeshadow. Do you like it?"  
  
"Scrumptious." The Doctor gave Anna a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Ready to go say hi to Aunt Sally? She's downstairs."  
  
"Okay!" Anna took off down the stairs.  
  
"I have got a brilliant idea," the Doctor said, drawing Rose to her feet and hugging her close. "Don't put that party dress on. I won't put my tux on. We'll skip the party and just have wild monkey sex."  
  
Rose smiled. "Tempting. But I think Mum might kill me if I miss this."  
  
"I suppose I can hold off on the ravishing, then," the Doctor said with a cheeky grin.  
  
"You could always pull me into a cleaning closet like you used to," Rose suggested, winking at him.  
  
"Ah, ammonia. It's funny what your brain will associate with extremely pleasant things," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "Have you seen my cuff-links?"  
  
"Right on top of your puzzle-box," Rose said, walking over to her closet and slippingon knickers. She slid her bra over her arms and was about to hook it when the Doctor stilled her hands, drawing the cups down over her breasts and hooking it in the back for her, sliding his hands to the small of her back before he kissed the side of her neck.  
  
"Hmm.... you smell delicious. Sure you don't want to skive off?"  
  
Rose swayed into him. "Oh, I very much want to. But I don't know. I have to weigh my options. You know the sight of you in a tux does wicked things to me."  
  
The Doctor preened. "Like I said, Rose. Sex god."  
  
Rose tossed her head and laughed. "Get off me. We've got a party to go to."  
  
**  
  
The music rose and fell in the background as Rose's friends, family, and the top of the social class in Britain mingled in the large ballroom. Rose had chosen to embrace forty in a dark blue dress that swept to the floor and clung to her curves, leaving her back completely open. The Doctor loved to rest his hand against the bare skin of her back, and it was a bonus for Rose that he stood close to enjoy the privilege all night.  
  
He'd left her for a moment when Donna Noble found her way over and sat down in the chair next to her. "Happy birthday, love."  
  
"Oh, thank you," Rose said with a smile, trying to hide her laughter when the Doctor got sidetracked by Pete, gesturing grandly with his arms. "How do you like the party?"  
  
"Deadly dull. When's that idiot of yours going to blow something up?"  
  
Rose laughed a little bit louder than was entirely proper but didn't care. "Oh, I imagine he'll get around to it sooner or later. Although I told him I didn't want him ruining that tux."  
  
"I do like the way Lee looks in formal wear," Donna said thoughtful. "Your Doctor, though, looks a bit like an underfed empire penguin, doesn't he? That hair sticking up at odd angles this way and that, with the black and white? He's too skinny for words, my dear."  
  
"There's enough to hang on to," Rose said, her tongue escaping her lips.  
  
Donna waved her drink. "You would know better than me, love. So. How's forty? Feel all grown-up?"  
  
"I feel --" Rose shrugged her shoulders. "Well, mostly I just feel half-begun."  
  
Donna laughed. "I'll drink to that. To Rose Tyler, half-begun with lots more of life ahead of her."  
  
"Cheers," Rose said, and they clinked their glasses together. Rose drained her flute and set it down on the table behind her.  
  
"Shall I show you my moves?" The Doctor asked, his glasses still on, his hand extended.  
  
Rose laughed and took his hand. "Yeah, all right."  
  
They moved efficiently, though not gracefully, across the floor. "You look beautiful tonight," the Doctor said seriously.  
  
"Hmm, so do you," Rose muttered, her hand at the base of his neck.  
  
"We've gone over this. Men are not pretty. I am a stud, Rose."  
  
Rose snorted. "All right. If I say you're a stud, do you think we can sneak away? I'd very much like to have my celebratory fortieth-birthday-shag now."  
  
The Doctor beamed. "I thought you'd never ask."  



End file.
